


I Create to Destroy

by splatteredwingsofink



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splatteredwingsofink/pseuds/splatteredwingsofink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God creates Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Create to Destroy

**Author's Note:**

> This was written when I first reached season four, I had no knowledge of Castiel. So this is extremely AU.  
> I wrote God extremely cruel.

There is no heartbeat, no movement, just everlasting silence surrounding a pale, naked body. He lays on wisps of ivory clouds, an eternal softness that cradles him. He is a baby, not in the sense of the word, but a newborn, foreign and incomplete, crystal eyes curiously take in this quiet, white world. 

There's no making sense of it, no up or down, just the hushed clouds, blanketing him, holding him, protecting him. In this state he is vulnerable, they always are, naked and unaware. His ears prick and something from beyond the clouds calls him, a pitched keening. It shocks him and on fumbling, bambi legs he stands, trembling and sweating, scared and confused. A hand descends, from the stars and the clouds part to give birth to a man, tall, elegant, translucent and commanding. No words are spoken as the celestial figure stops short of the newborn, nothing but the gentle hiss of breathe as it leaves phantom lips. 

Suddenly there are lungs, opening and closing, drawing air in with hungry abandon, the cloud walker watches, pleased, as the product of his work breathes. He reaches out, touching his own chest and the newly breathing makes a noise of shock as something thumps in his chest. Blood rushes through his veins and when he looks up to lay eyes on the entity who gave him life, there is no one. 

The clouds are still soft beneath his feet, the suns heat wrapping around his pale body, lean muscle and dark hair, a chest that is expanding and depressing, a body filled with God's essence. His mind is slowly ticking, working through confusion and wonder when a voice pierces his thoughts.

"My newest," the voice says, "my weakest," it elaborates, "created of ash and fire and," there's a pause, then a gentle utterance, "clouds." 

 He tries to find his voice, question the unknown but cannot.

"My son," it's quiet, soft, " _Castiel_ ," the name sticks to him, branding into his not-soul, each letter carving itself out into his skin, he screams, "the angel never meant to be," there's an edge in the words, something that lashes out and cuts him, he flinches, "the cursed."

Castiel trembles as he reaches out with his arms, as if physically trying to grasp something. His mouth opens but there is no voice, nothing but the air escaping his lungs and the dizzying feeling of falling. He realizes too late that he's fallen through the cloud, simply slipped away from safety. He twists and turns, the air whipping past him, something round and beautiful below him coming into view. It's no comfort, nothing is, he is dying after just living, his stomach is threatening to expel food he's never eaten and his lungs are screaming in agony.

"Castiel," the voice addresses and he finds his voice long enough to screech his fear. "Castiel, fly."

He hears the command, hears the sheer force behind it. His spine arches, nearly curling as he plummets down, blood starts to ooze from some wound, coating the backs of his legs, his curious hands, everything. There's a tearing sensation, like something is being pulled from within him, his shoulder blades give and inch by inch blood soaked, raven wings protrude from torn skin. He doesn't know how to make them move, can't command them, so they extend and he continues to fall. 

The fall from Heaven is surprisingly quick, once second above the next lying on hard, brown ground. His bones are broken, a delicate bird like rib cage smashed to splinters, his wings twisted, mutilated. 

Blood dribbles from his mouth and thunder cracks somewhere near by, he can hear God laughing, he can hear all of Heaven laughing, Hell is only interested for one reason, Demons near by cackling as their slimy presence ebbs closer and closer, sniffing out the fallen Angel. 

"H-help," he sputters, his first words pathetic, weak. Heaven goes quiet, and there is no reply, only the rain that begins to beat down on him. The water washes away most of the blood and his wings vanish into thin air with his exhaustion, his back still torn where they came through. He cant move, his legs are twisted, only his arms remain untouched. He buries his fingers in mud as he shivers in the downpour, the rain hides his scent from Demons but there are other things to worry about here, he can sense it. Still he is helpless and broken, blood and mud tarnishing a previously flawless figure. 

He shuts his eyes and he doesn't know if he's crying or not, tears and rain painfully similar in feel and texture on his skin. He lays there for a long time in the storm, his lungs sucking in cold air, water, his body battered by exposure and injury. Castiel has long since accepted he was created to die, that he is God's joke to the universe. So he fights the will to live and simply relaxes into darkness. 

There a loud humming, rough as it gets near. Castiel jerks awake, his vision blurred, his ribs aching painfully, he coughs and spits blood. He's unsure of what it coming near to him, what's racing down the road, it looks like some sort of metallic animal, black in all it's glory, with round paws, straining on the mud. All instinct urges him to flee but as a newborn he is stuck with the slowest recovery period of them all, a full day is required. He presses his face to the mud and shuts his eyes, praying to the cruel above that the creature keeps going. It doesn't. It comes to a sloppy stop and Castiel flinches as something slams shut. 

"Oh my God!" A voice exclaims and he cringes at his fathers name, now just a blank face, cruel but beautiful that cast him down like some toy. Something touches him, warm fingers, he takes a few painful breathes in, trying to calm himself. 

"Oh fuck, oh man, Sam!" The voice leaves, hurrying away before returning, another voice accompanying it. 

"What the fuck?" 

"Here," the first voice utters, fingers touch him again, he hisses through his teeth, "let me help you, Sam get the blanket out of the trunk!"

He doesn't fight the hands pulling him up, doesn't even bother to care about his nudity, it's all beyond him now, all he feels is pain, the pieces of his ribs shifting. He groans and opens his eyes to find a worried face staring down at him. It's human, he can tell that much and it's concerned. 

"Don't worry," it says and Castiel goes ridged as the mortal gathers him up. The other returns and he feels a shred of dread when he sees it, longer hair, a broad forehead, completely innocent looking now but he can sense the destiny fate has in mind for him. 

"Sam," the one holding him says and takes the blanket offered, Castiel finds a tiny amount of safety within the folds of the scratching, worn material wrapped around him. 

"Dean, should we really be doing this?" Sam asks and Castiel shuts is eyes, tries to listen in on Heaven but the gates are shut to him. "I mean he could be some weird type of Demon."

"I am no Demon," he says, his voice a weak mewling. 

"See? There you go, not a Demon." Dean replies and he stands, jerking the bundle in his arms. Castiel gasps, his fingers digging into the blanket, into his holders shoulder. 

"Sorry buddy," Dean says and Castiel buries his face in the blanket. Right now, in the grasp of a mortal, is the first time during his pitifully new life he's felt safe. Dean keeps talking but he tunes it out in favour of some much needed sleep. Besides the backseat of the Impala, Castiel tries not to grin because it _is_ an animal, is extremely comfortable despite the jerking of his broken bones. 


End file.
